


the art of letting go

by somalester



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Coma, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Team as Family, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 23:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18538069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somalester/pseuds/somalester
Summary: Following a bad hit during a fight, Tony falls into a coma he's not expected to wake up from.Steve doesn't cope.





	the art of letting go

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is a whole ass mess and basically just a vent fic. i apologise in advance

It happens too fast for anyone to do anything.

Too fast for Steve even, who’s standing right there when Tony comes crashing to the ground, falling from almost a thousand feet up in the air.

Steve runs as soon as he realises what’s happening. He doesn't know how or why, only that one of his biggest nightmares have come true and the very thing that’s supposed to protect Tony has turned into a deadly trap.

Later, he’ll be able to reconstruct what happened with the team, that Tony was knocked out of the sky by a blow so heavy it sent almost all of his suit’s system offline, including the communication links.

But during the fall, the uncertainty of what’s happening makes everything worse. No matter how often he screams Tony’s name, there’s only terrifying silence at the other end.

The suits hits the street with a sickening crunch.

Steve’s heart lurches; his stomach rebels against the horrifying images that sound produces in his mind. As he’s calling for MedEvac, his eyes never waver from the red and gold heap of scraps on the ground.

He’s at Tony’s side less than ten seconds after impact. Behind him, the battle against the aliens that some idiot let loose on New York is still soaring, but he can’t turn back there now. Wouldn’t, not for the world.

It’s bad, Steve knows that as much before he even begins to assess the situation with shaking hands.

Tony has failsafes for this exact scenario, built in after Steve woke up from one too many nightmares and _begged_ him to. Even so, the suit is dented and even partially torn off. Steve fumbles for the emergency release hatch and the suit falls away from Tony’s body, save for a part that’s stuck in his upper leg.

Steve swallows against the bile in his throat. As long as the metal is still in there, he doesn't have to worry about the bleeding. It’ll be fine, at least until medical gets to them.

But that’s not his biggest worry. From somewhere beneath Tony’s hair, blood steadily oozes out of his head onto his temple, forehead and left cheek. It looks bizarre, almost as if his entire face is broken.

“Tony?” Steve whispers, afraid that Tony wouldn’t wake up, and afraid of what would happen if he did. “Sweetheart? Can you hear me?”

Tony can’t. Or, at least, his eyes remain closed, his body motionless, as if he was already -

Steve’s hand fumbles for Tony’s neck. The pulse is there, but weakened, and slow.

“Stay with me,” Steve whispers, voice shaking. “Medical’s almost here, just stay with me, _please_.”

But Tony doesn't respond. His blood is slowly coating the ground and Steve feels terrifyingly alone.

 

* * *

 

Tony gets an MRI-Scan as soon as they arrive at the hospital. Steve refuses to leave his husband’s side, even though he doesn't understand a thing about what the doctors are hoping to do.

It all happens quickly.

Steve’s never cursed his struggle to understand modern technology more. The doctors don’t take much time to explain things to him, and all Steve’s able to grasp is that there’s brain damage.

They wheel Tony into emergency surgery.

Steve is in the waiting room for a total of nine hours and forty-seven minutes.

They put him in a private room, away from other patients and the prying eyes of the staff.

He’s alone. More so than he’s ever been in his entire life, save from being frozen in the Arctic sea. He’s alone in this room, with no-one except the clock keeping him company. And he’s alone in his heart. The place where usually Tony’s presence is, as sure and sturdy as his shield, is empty.

Time trickles by slowly and unbelievably fast at the same time.

His teammates come and go, but none of them can really reach the horrible place Steve’s mind is stuck in. 

Natasha’s there first, singling her presence by gently putting a hand on his shoulder. She doesn’t say anything. When Steve gathers the strength to look up, her eyes are troubled and angry, but above all sad. After a while she leaves, no doubt to bully some poor doctor to update her on Tony’s condition.

Clint attempts to talk to him, calm him down. _Tony’s been through worse_ , he says. _He’s going to be okay._

The worlds feel hollow, meaningless. Steve doesn’t respond to Clint, and eventually, he’s alone again.

After a few hours, Bruce collapses into the seat next to Steve’s. He’s still in the baggy pants the Hulk wore during their fight.

Some faraway part of Steve’s brain wonders how long it’s been since Bruce turned into _Bruce_ again, but he doesn't ask. It doesn't matter, not really.

“I’m sorry, Steve” is the only thing Bruce says. His voice is wobbling, Steve realises. Out of all of his teammates, this is hitting Bruce the hardest.

It shouldn't be surprising, what with the many hours Bruce and Tony spent working side by side. Steve finds himself leaning towards the comfort of Bruce’s understanding.

“Bruce,” he says, throat scratchy. “What am I going to do?”

Bruce just shakes his head and hugs him.

None of them ask Steve to take a break, even though that’s what Tony would've done, undoubtedly. Maybe because they don’t have the strength to argue with him, not right now, at least. Or maybe they know he’s not going to leave, no matter what they say.

He sits there for almost ten hours.

And all that’s on his mind is Tony.

 

* * *

 

Tony won’t wake up.

The doctor explains it all to Steve, but Steve can barely continue to listen after that sentence.

There was massive bleeding in Tony’s brain, and they haven't been able to reverse all the damage. Even if he were, by a miracle, to regain consciousness, the old Tony would still be gone. Memory loss and paralysation from the neck down is the best case scenario, and even that is unlikely.

_But that’s not important_ , Steve thinks, almost frantically.

What’s important is that a hundred people have said _You can’t_ to Tony Stark in his life, and he always got back up and said _I can_. There’s nothing that can bring down Tony Stark.

Steve tells the doctors as much, and their pitying stare follows him out the door.

 

* * *

 

Twelve hours after the crash, Steve is at Tony’s side again.

Tony’s in the ICU, and the nurses were strict about not letting Steve in there with his dirty and bloodied uniform that he hadn't changed out of, so he had to go back to the tower first.

He brings Tony the bouquet of white stargazer lilies that Steve bought for him about a week ago on one of his runs. Little gestures like this never failed to bring a smile to Tony’s face, and from their very first date on, Steve’d made it his personal mission to make Tony smile as much as possible.

When he steps into Tony’s room, the first thing he notices is how horribly cold everything is. It reminds him of when he moved in with Tony. Tony’s floor had been carefully designed, undeniably stylish and expensive, but so impersonal it’d made Steve’s heart ache for who lived there. Little by little, Tony’s space had started to unwind. Not only with Steve’s stuff now in every room, but small bits and pieces of Tony as well. DUM-E sweeping the floor. A drawing Steve had made for him. Pictures of him and Steve, of the team, and sometimes his mother.

Now, it feels like they’re back to square one, and Tony Stark is out of reach again.

The sheets are plain white, the hospital bed a pale grey. There’s a monitor above Tony’s head, displaying heart rate, blood pressure, and lots of other data Steve doesn't understand. Tony has an IV in his arm and a tube down his throat, and there’s way more cables and equipment attached to Tony’s body than Steve would ever know what to do with. It’s as if Steve’s husband is gone, and a pale, helpless version of him is now lying in this bed, so dangerously close to the edge.

Steve places the flowers on the little table next to Tony’s bed and drags a chair to Tony’s side.

Careful not to dislodge the small sensor clipped to Tony’s finger, Steve takes his hand.

“They said you won’t wake up again,” Steve whispers. “But they don’t know you like I do.”

Tony doesn't respond. There’s not even a spike in his heartbeat.

Steve swallows. Tony looks like he’s only sleeping.

“I’m gonna be here until you wake up, sweetheart. I promise you.”

 

* * *

 

Four days after the crash, Natasha bodily drags him out of Tony’s room.

Steve knows she doesn't match him in physical strength, but she’s never let that stop her, and he doesn't want to start a fight. Not in front of Tony.

So he follows after her without protest.

If she’s concerned at his utter look of.. caring, she doesn't show it. And Steve doesn't think much about it either.

Steve dutifully takes a shower and puts on different clothes afterwards. He eats leftovers from the fridge and drinks a bottle of water. Then, he packs an overnight bag for Tony and heads back to the garage.

Natasha intercepts him in the hallway, as if she was waiting for him to show up there. Which she probably _had_ been, Steve realises.

“Where are you going.”

Steve raises his chin. “To Tony.”

She sighs. “Steve, you’ve only been here for an hour. And before that, you were in there for three days.”

“So?” Steve asks, challengingly. “I need to be there when he wakes up.”  
Natasha stiffens. “Steve, he’s on a _ventilator_ -”

Steve pushes past her and hurries to the garage. His eyes are burning with tears.

He should probably listen to her, he knows that. But the prospect of Tony… not being there for him anymore is too foreign, too _alien_ to grasp. They’ve been married for almost five years. Tony is a constant in his life that he _needs_.

He doesn't let himself think about the what if.

 

* * *

 

Three weeks after the crash, they move Tony into the MedBay.

There’s no more treatments to try, the doctors say, and thanks to Helen Cho, they have even better monitoring systems at the tower than the hospital does in the ICU.

For Steve, it doesn't make a difference. Wherever Tony goes, he goes.

The first day Tony’s back home, Steve sets about making the room as comfortable as possible. He moves some of Tony’s framed pictures downstairs, gives Tony the blanket he shares with Steve and has JARVIS read him the weather and his location every morning, just like before the crash.

Steve still spends most of his time in Tony’s room. He tells him stories, mostly old ones from his childhood, but sometimes, DUM-E knocks over a can of oil or Bruce burns their dinner, and Steve tells him that too.

They have nurses going in and out of the tower on a daily basis. They check on the machines keeping Tony alive and give him medicine through injections, but that’s where Steve draws the line. He learns how to feed Tony through the tube, how to change IV’s. He washes Tony every morning, changes his clothes and has an eye on his vitals every moment of the day.

The nurses let him, but Steve knows how they look at him when they think he can’t see: with a horrible mixture of pity and worry. Steve knows what they think, and they’re right; Tony’s care takes all of his time and energy; he hasn’t even been to movie nights or team training. And more often than not, he forgets to feed and bathe _himself_. But that’s just how it is.

Tony was the center of his life long before the crash, he is now, and he will be for as long as Steve can help it.

 

* * *

 

Two months after the crash, Clint and Natasha coax Steve into training with them. (They have Bruce watch Tony for the two hours Steve’s gone, which was Steve’s condition to go with them in the first place.)

Still, Steve feels uneasy to leave Tony for that long. He’s completely defenseless, and Steve is fidgety and distracted at first, not even posing any kind of challenge for Clint and Natasha.

Clint teases him about it; says he’s gone soft, that he’s no use to Tony like this. It’s supposed to make Steve mad and does the trick pretty quickly. As soon as Steve lets go and fights Clint for good, he gets into an adrenaline rush he hasn't experienced in months, letting go of his worry and focuses only on the task before him.

By the time they finish, he’s out of breath and exhausted, but in a good way, like he hasn't experienced in way too long. Most important of all, he feels _better._

He’s almost ashamed to admit it to Clint and Natasha, but he thanks them anyway. Neither of them is harsh to him about it; they simply tell him they’re glad it did him some good.

From that day on, they invite him to training every other day, and if Steve starts to feel truly grateful for the _distraction_ it provides. In the training hall, he doesn't have to think about the big, black hole of grief that’s threatening to swallow him whole.

But still, he can’t bring himself to leave Tony alone for more than a few hours at a time. It feels like a horrible pull when they’re away from each other.

As if Tony gets even more unreachable during that time.

 

* * *

 

Five months after the crash, Steve goes on his first mission.

He was getting better at taking time for himself every now and then, either to train or to paint, but going away for God knows how long on a _mission_ seemed completely out of the question.

Then, modified weapons based on Stark technology started appearing all over the east coast, and Steve knew he couldn't sit this one out.

When Natasha comes to ask him about the job, she takes one look at his face and says “We leave in thirty minutes.”

It all goes surprisingly well; they manage to break into the warehouse, destroy the weapons and take the sellers out of the game as well.

Still, Steve feels awful coming back to the tower.

Normally, Tony’d be there to welcome him, either with reassurance and affection or distraction, depending on what Steve needed.   
Now, there’s only Tony’s comatose body in the MedBay, and for a fleeting moment, Steve wonders if this can even be called living.

 

* * *

 

Six months after the crash, the team successfully traps him in the training room.

Ever since Tony… fell, all of them have tried talking to him about Tony. But ever since that first time Natasha managed to corner him, he’s done his best to avoid these conversations.

It’s always _Tony won’t wake up, Steve_ and _You should think about what’s best for him, Steve_ , but what they all don’t understand is that he knows Tony better than Tony knows himself. He doesn't need any of them to tell him what Tony would've wanted. As long as there’s still a chance, Tony would always fight to come back to Steve, he _promised_ that.

When Steve finds himself opposite of three determined pairs of eyes and hears the doors to the training room slide shut, he doesn't have to ask.

“No.”

Clint raises his eyebrows. “We haven't even said anything.”  
“You want me to give up on Tony,” Steve says coldly. “Don’t waste your breath. I’m not doing it.”

“ _Steve,”_ Natasha cuts in, “none of us would ever _give up_ on Tony. But this has gone on too long and you know that.”

Steve feels his body tense. Sometimes, he hates Natasha’s ability to get under people’s skin so effortlessly, to speak truths nobody is ready to hear yet. Especially if it’s something as close to heart as this.

“We’ve tried everything we can.” Bruce holds out his hands imploringly, as if this is a negotiation for peace. “There’s nothing more we can do. And even if he does wake up, it… He won’t be himself.”

“I know that.” Steve grits his teeth. “But he’s still _there_ and I can’t - ”

“We know this is hard on you.” Natasha hesitates, as if measuring her next words carefully. “But Tony is - ”

“Don’t,” Steve warns her. “He’s in a _coma_ , not dead, for all we know, he’s still in there, _goddamn_.”

Natasha just looks at him. “If that’s true, how do you think he feels? Tony Stark, trapped in his own body, completely dependent on others, with no means of communicating.”

Steve’s done a lot of crying in the past half a year. He finds his eyes watering anyway, as if it’s been weeks, not months.

“This is _my_ decision to make, not yours,” he tells her firmly, even through the tears wetting his cheeks. “So let me out of here and drop it.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Then, Natasha’s shoulders fall. Without a word, the doors open and Steve is pushing past her, Clint and Bruce, already on his way to Tony’s room.

The sad and ugly truth is, he’s right. This decision is his to make, and his alone. Since the doctors don’t have a written statement from Tony, the decision on life-support goes to his next of kin, which is, since Tony doesn't have any living relatives, Steve.

When he opens the door and sees Tony lying on his bed, a sob makes its way out of Steve’s throat.

Tony is _right there_ , but he’s also not, and as he thinks about what Natasha said, he knows she’s right.

Steve takes Tony’s hand, like he’s done a hundred times and more since that fateful day, but it’s different this time. He doesn't even know who he’s trying to comfort.

“If you’re really in there…” Steve pauses, tries not to think about what Tony is going through, because of _him_ , and fails. “I’m sorry. I’m _so sorry._ But I can’t have your life on my hands.”

Tony doesn't respond.

Steve sits in his ridiculously comfortable chair and cries.

 

* * *

 

Eight months after the crash, Steve finally goes into Tony’s workshop.

It’s the day of their wedding, and Steve can’t bear it to be with his husband.

But he feels the need to be close to him anyway, and the workshop is the only thing left of the old Tony that hasn't been touched since.

It’s dark and dusty when Steve walks into the lab. Everything is exactly how Tony left it; he was in the middle of upgrading Clint’s arrows when they were called out on that mission, and everything is still sprawled out on his workspace as if he’s been gone for a few hours rather than months.

Steve doesn’t look at that. It’s not like he would understand any of it.

Instead, Steve walks over to Tony’s little personal area of the workshop, where he had a couch, a cupboard and even a small fridge for when he inevitably looked himself in for days at a time.

On the floor, things were lying about that Tony had accumulated here over time: blankets and pillows, some of Steve’s shirts, a sling from when Tony’d broken his arm that Steve had to beg him to keep wearing almost every day.

Steve swallows against the pressure building up in his throat. Their old life is there right in front of him, and yet still out of reach.

He ignores the mess on the floor and walks over to the dresser. Tony mostly keeps all types of pain relievers down here, but Steve knows that’s not all there is.

He takes a stack of papers and photos from one of the lower drawers. He doesn't even know if Tony knew that Steve was aware of his little collection, since Steve never mentioned it.

It’s a part of all their memories together.

Tickets to the Smithsonian, from when Tony took him and then laughed at Steve’s shocked expressions upon seeing that his old drawings were on display there.

The check from the restaurant they went to on their first date.

Pictures from their wedding and honeymoon, from numerous trips all around the world that Tony took them on.

It’s a memorial of a life long gone.

Steve smiles, even as his heart grows heavy and sullen. An outsider would probably scoff - Tony Stark, _sentimental_? But Steve knew him better than that. Knew him better than anyone.

And nobody would ever be able to take that from him.

 

* * *

 

One year after the crash, Steve makes a decision.

It’s long overdue. And yet, when the date of Tony’s fall comes around again, he feels far from ready. It’s so easy to delude himself into thinking putting it off would be okay, Tony’s still right _there_ after all.

Only he’s not, not really. He’s on a ventilator, and none of the brain scans that Steve had begged the doctors to do showed any sign of increased activity.

The hours before, Steve stays at Tony’s side, just like he would do the first weeks after. He washes him and talks to him, explains what’s going to happen and why.

He tells Tony he loves him, over and over.

It’s Steve’s last chance to, and suddenly it seems like he can never say it enough, even if he would be to stand there and repeat it over and over for the rest of his life.

He wishes he could stretch out these last ours, make them last forever. Create a bubble in which only the two of them exist.

He refuses to look at the clock.

Eventually, there’s a knock on the door. Steve keeps his gaze fixed on Tony, but out of the corner of his eyes, he sees the team silently fill the room, followed by Pepper, Rhodey and Helen Cho.

Steve doesn't move, doesn't say anything. He’s afraid he’ll call the whole thing off if he does.

Cho administers medication for Tony, designed to keep the need for air at bay and allow a more peaceful passing.

After she removes the tube that kept him alive for an entire year, it takes almost an hour for Tony to go.

It’s awful. There’s no sign of discomfort or struggle on Tony’s face, and yet, watching him hover in that void between life and death is like hammer to Steve’s heart.

Afterwards, there’s silence.

 


End file.
